Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.
Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!
A/N: there are no excuses, I know I have taken a hell of a long time.
The plot of Rosalie is complicated and I have spent quite some time trying to figure out exactly what her past is.
It finally came to me, and I am walking a path that I don't think holds many clichés but that remains to see.
I had intended to dedicate this chapter to Jasper, but found inspiration taking me elsewhere.
To all who reads and waits patiently; thank you.
When she was little, like so many other girls, her favorite thing in the world to do, her one passion, was to play with dolls. They came in every possible size and shape and theme; porcelain ones with pretty painted faces, hair made from yarn and old fashioned dresses sewn to their bodies. There were dolls made purely out of fabric, or corn dolls and hand puppets.
Then there were these little ones, plastic through and through, their small bodies no more than a handful. Some wet their little diapers when she bottle fed them water. There were Barbie dolls – which she hated with a passion - there were all kinds of Polly Pockets with shiny colors and accessories that adjoined them on purchase such as purses, lipstick, and hair accessories in bright colors. The dolls themselves dressed up in provocatively short dresses and skirts, keeping with the whole theme of the Barbie or whatever rip-off replacement if you couldn't afford the actual, expensive things. They were designed to change little girls' focus, bring up the subject of sex and body fixation far too soon and force them to grow up all too fast.
But her favorite doll, the one doll she wanted so desperately, the one item she would put on the very top of her Christmas list every year even before world peace and Prince Charming, was a Baby Born Doll.
It was beautiful; the perfect imitation of an actual infant, all soft latex and perfect blue eyes that closed as if sleeping when you lay it on its back. If you fed it or gave it a bottle, it had to use the potty afterwards, just like a real baby. It even cried real tears.
It was all pinkness, an armful to an eight year old girl, with all sorts of different clothes and accessories that had nothing whatsoever to do with sex and makeup and bodies. It was even a little roundish, like a baby should be: plump and dimply and perfect.
And one Christmas, the year she turned nine, her grandmother took mercy on her grandchild and bought her the damn doll.
On the card it said "From Grandma" though, and not "From Santa Claus," like it did on most kids Christmas cards.
Rosalie Lillian Hale had never liked or believed in Santa Claus.
She had unwrapped the large square package with trembling fingers, her large eyes full of hesitant enthusiasm, afraid to be hopeful for something that she was not sure she would get. But when the frail Christmas wrapping was torn in shreds, and the pink and white cardboard prison that held a brand new Baby Born Doll was revealed, her rounded and amazed eyes filled and brimmed over with tears of joy.
A baby. She had a baby.
She struggled so hard, almost in desperation, to tear the package open. When she had managed to free the doll from its confinements, the accessories and fancy food and pink plastic potty and spoons and diapers and pacifiers be damned, she hugged the little thing to her body with such affection that had there been anyone in the room to witness, they would have experienced an unbearable heartache at the sight.
Because every human being knows affection, every human being feels the draw to hug and caress, knows the comfort that warmth provides in the darkness. And every human being knows what neglect and abandon looks like.
As the snow fell thickly outside Rosalie's hospital window, she thought back to each birthday and Christmas after that one. Each time, her grandmother sent a new outfit or accessory that belonged to that doll in particular. The little latex infant had more clothes than Rosalie did herself at one point, even though Grandma Hale never knew. But she adored each and every one, the little blue onesies and all the white, pink, green, pretty, not to mention the knitted outfits that her grandma made. Perfect and small for a perfect and small doll in a perfect and small world where the horrors of past and mistakes of the future had yet to haunt her, where the universe revolved around her pretty little doll, and her or his – depending on the day and her mood - pretty little clothes, feeding, and putting it in its makeshift crib to sleep.
She thought of lost childhood and lost happiness, ignoring the ringing phone on the nightstand. Eventually, she made her way to the part of the maternity ward where Baby Boy Hale was hopefully sleeping soundly, unable to resist being in his presence any longer.
She wore only socks as she padded silently through the halls. Night had fallen upon Forks many hours ago and the halls were barely illuminated as she walked.
Gentle, dimmed light shone in the small room where the premature baby was resting. She pushed the door open carefully, trying desperately to be silent so as not to wake anyone. She found his pink and slightly blue form asleep, ignoring the tubes and instruments that surrounded and were attached to him, only taking in his face and the worn baby blanket they had wrapped him in.
The little piece of fabric that shielded his body was white with dark blue and red stripes, the incredibly small thing wearing only a diaper underneath.
"Why don't you have clothes, my baby?" she whispered in horrified realization.
Why on earth didn't her baby have clothes?
Her baby.
Oh God.
"No…" a strangled sob escaped her as soon as the thought entered her mind.
Her baby.
"No!"
The loud sound of his mother's verbal objections woke Baby Boy Hale from his fretful nap at once, and his screams filled the room.
"No, no, no…"
It was all so wrong. Guilt washed over her as her ears were deafened with the agony in the small baby's cry for comfort.
Before she could even think about what she was doing, Rosalie turned on her heel and ran out of the room. She began packing her belongings together in a hurry, throwing random objects and clothes into a plastic bag.
She was through the hospital doors and out of sight before ten minutes had passed, sneaking past the nurses' station in an effort to get away quickly.
But as the hours dragged on and the walls of her cold, empty house were closing in on her, despair became the dominant emotion. It was the only thing she was able to focus on.
In a state of complete numbness, Rosalie walked into the dusty attic and started roaming around in old cardboard boxes, searching for lost treasures and some sort of balm for her aching soul.
Finally, after God knows how many hours spent breathing in the dust and digging through the completely unorganized mess that was the storage space of her house, she found the box she was looking for.
With trembling fingers, so very much alike the first time she had unwrapped a package to find the object that she so much desired inside, Rosalie Hale opened the box and found a little Baby Born doll inside. It was dirty and well-worn, but treated with affection nonetheless. Every smudge and scratch made out traces of an old and well known path she had once walked.
She hugged the little plastic object tightly to her chest for a while then, feeling tears welling in her eyes as regret filled her chest. Loud, uncontrolled sobs escaped her as tears of sorrow trickled down her cheeks in steady streams, her hands feeling at the size of her doll feebly, a part of her shocked and terrified when realizing that the doll that once had felt so big and sturdy in her arms now felt ridiculously small.
And her son, her baby in the hospital, was even smaller.
How could he even survive?
There were no guarantees.
Her baby. Her son. There it was again. The thought entered her mind before she could stop herself, the title so natural in her head and so right on her lips.
After what felt like yet another lifetime, she opened her eyes and let them gaze downward at the box she had just unsealed to find one of the few treasures from her childhood. It took almost thirty seconds for her mind to grasp what her eyes observed, but when she did, Rosalie dropped the beloved doll she had been holding to the floor with a thud.
"No!" came the horrified whisper in the dusty silence that filled the air around her.
The box with all the doll's treasured clothes had been turned into a mice's nest, everything ruined, eaten or soiled.
"Oh my God, no!"
She picked helplessly at the ruined things, priceless to her, and found some even so ruined that the fabric dissolved in her hands. She turned away then, unable to look at the content any longer, and sat down next to the doll she had dropped.
Picking it up again, she cradled the small thing gently in her arms and felt new tears surface as she looked at the worn thing.
"I dropped you," she whispered, a finger touching the cheek of the toy's face, light as a feather. "I dropped you to the floor. What kind of mother does that?"
She tried to rationalize, tried to justify, tried to tell herself that it was just a doll, but in her mind, she had dropped her baby.
It was unforgivable.
"Who drops their baby? What if you had been him? Who drops their baby?"
Sob after helpless sob wracked her body, an endless stream of tears down her cheeks as she was literally drowning in her own despair.
"Hello? Miss Hale?"
Rosalie sat, as if frozen or glued to the floor, completely silent. She heard the heavy and distinct steps of a grown male coming closer.
Suddenly, she was blinded by the light streaming through the doorway as Doctor Carlisle Cullen appeared before her, holding a first aid kit in his left hand.
His posture was tense and his brow creased with worry, but when he took in Rosalie, healthy and well on the dusty floor, he let out a breath and his expression relaxed visibly.
They stared at each other for the longest time, both waiting for the other to act. But when the girl didn't make a move to stand up, speak or send him away, Doctor Cullen stepped closer until he was beside her and quietly sat down.
The sound of the girl's unsteady breathing filled the room, accompanied by his own, calming. steady breaths until Carlisle decided to break the silence, digging through his right hand pocket for something.
He fished out a tin with Altoids and held it out to her.
"Breath mint?" Carlisle asked politely, giving the box a gentle shake so it gave off a rattling sound in the quiet, so loud after so much silence that it was all but echoing off the walls.
Rosalie's teary eyes snapped up from where she had been focusing on a spot in the wall to his gentle and handsome face, her brow creasing in confusion and her full lips pursing in suspicion.
Never take candy from strangers, her mother had always taught her. The thought made her snort out loud, and Carlisle to frown at her.
Her mother had also taught her how to mix Gin and Tonic at age four.
Spitefully, she reached out and opened the packet she had been offered, taking out the hard candy and popping it in her mouth, muttering a thank you under her breath that she wasn't sure Doctor Cullen even caught.
But he had, and he smiled at her in a way that no man had ever done, with warm affection and care.
It made her chest ache with a completely different emotion, one she couldn't quite put her finger on. She suppressed it before she was able to examine it closer, fearing that her frail body didn't have room enough for more turbulence at this point.
"So, young lady," Carlisle said in a tone of voice that held the perfect volume and melody for silent rooms and crackling tension, "why are we here?" he questioned lightly.
There was no accusation in Carlisle's voice, no sign of anger or hidden emotions that made Rosalie wary.
She was relieved and chanced a swift look sideways at his face, before turning back to look at the spot in the wall again.
Minutes passed and Doctor Cullen changed his sitting position so that his legs were straight out. What looked like a very pricy suit was getting dust and dirt all over it, but he didn't seem to care. He popped an Altoid into his mouth silently, just waiting.
For what though?
For her? To say something?
Ha! Rosalie thought with defiance. He was getting nothing out of her.
But why was he here?
She peeked up at his face every now and again, watching his relaxed features staring at the wall on the opposite end of the room, just as she had been. But every time she looked his way, he slowly turned his face to meet her eyes, smiling calmly with warmth and patience, like he had nothing in the world to do, nothing he would rather be spending his time doing than sitting next to Rosalie on the dusty floor of her attic.
It was strangely relaxing to her nerves. The presence of his body beside hers had a calming effect as his manners, his body language spoke of nothing but serene calm.
"You're the new kid's father…"
Rosalie was surprised at the way her mouth had suddenly decided to open and spew out words. She was usually not a small talker.
In the same calm way, Carlisle withdrew his eyes from the wall and took in her face with gentle eyes which color was impossible to decide in the shadows and darkness.
"Yes, did you get a chance to meet my Edward?" he asked, smiling warmly down at her, a hint of dimple in his cheeks as he spoke. His eyes didn't even linger as they fell to her lap where she was still clutching her doll with whitening knuckles.
"I saw him," Rosalie confided. "But we never spoke. There was a lot happening that day with…"
She stopped herself from finishing her train of thought, uncertain about whether or not Carlisle knew about Emmett McCarty hitting his son, not wanting to be the one to give him bad news or upset him.
It was so serenely calm when he sat beside her like that, just breathing and being warm and silent.
"Yes," Carlisle nodded in affirmation and it was with regret that she saw a shadow pass fleetingly across his face before it was gone again, making the air shift a little, just to alert her to his discomfort before it passed and became neutral ground once more.
Emmett's name left a bad taste on both sets of tongues, but for quite different reasons, Rosalie's aftertaste far more bitter than Carlisle's.
It was silent again for a while and Rosalie jumped when Doctor Cullen's cell phone started ringing, but found herself surprised once more when he turned it off without even looking at the display to see who was calling.
Right now, nothing in the world mattered but her and Rosalie had never felt so incredibly special.
Which, granted, was quite sad.
Her affection towards this man kept on growing as she silently counted all the reasons why the man beside her deserved so much better than resting his derrière on the dusty floor of her attic. He had saved her life, he had saved her baby, he had made Rosalie eat dinner two days in a row when she refused to swallow anything. He had held her hand the first time she visited the bathroom after she gave birth, since the nurse was unavailable. He had even tried, over and over, to convince Rosalie to go visit her son, not knowing that she did every night when no one was there to witness her fall apart.
And here he was again, checking up on her, making sure she was alright. Or so she assumed.
"I dropped him," she suddenly whispered in the dark, watching from the corner of her eye as Doctor Cullen's stare shifted from the wall to her lap where her trembling hands fidgeted with her doll.
Slowly, he reached out and put a hand over the one she rested on the doll's naked stomach.
"He will be alright, Rosalie," Carlisle said with calm conviction. Both knew he was not speaking of the doll.
"But what kind of mother…?" Her voice held unshed tears, her question ringing unfinished and despair making her bow her head forward in shame.
"Rosalie, look at me," Carlisle commanded gently, letting the hand that had warmed her own over the doll's body rise to lift her chin with a gentle finger.
She allowed the motion without fight or even flinching and her blue, sorrowful eyes met his.
"He will be alright. You haven't hurt him. You gave him life."
Calm, serene, complete conviction in every word. He truly believed the words he spoke, she could feel it. But that didn't change anything.
"But he nearly died! I nearly killed him! I can't even give birth right!"
Her voice was barely a whisper, and in the air hung once again the unspoken thought that the good doctor didn't need ears to hear.
I don't want him. I didn't want him. I said I didn't want him.Instead of meaningless, trivial, empty words, Carlisle put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle hug.
"I know, honey… I know," he whispered soothingly, rubbing her back ever so gently until she relaxed.
Yet another silence followed and then she moved away to reach into the box of ruined doll accessories, pulling out something with little yellow ducks. A onesie.
"I thought that…" she took a calming breath. "I remembered that I had…" A single tear ran down her left cheek. "He wasn't wearing any clothes and I thought they would maybe fit," she finally whispered, closing her eyes as she fisted the ruined fabric tightly.
"Oh," Carlisle gave an understanding nod but said nothing else.
It was quite common to buy Baby Born outfits for preemies, this was a well known fact. He wanted to applaud the young girl's logic.
"But they are all ruined and…" she was not about to spend any another dime of the blood money in her bank account and certainly not on the newborn baby who, in spite of everything, was sin-free and should remain so.
"Ah," Carlisle nodded again, silently sharing her regret. There was nothing to add.
Almost two hours later, mostly spent in silence, Doctor Cullen managed to coax Rosalie up off the floor.
"I want to keep you under observation if you don't mind," he said with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling. "I think you may be a little anemic."
He winked at her.
They walked through the foyer and Carlisle stopped to look around for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
He had expected neglectfulness and absence from her parents, but looking around, it didn't seem that any adult had lived in this home for quite some time.
"If you don't mind me asking, where are your parents Rosalie?" Carlisle dared.
His steps had halted as he took in a very impersonal living room with brown furniture.
But Rosalie had kept on walking to the door and opened it – she didn't like observing the emptiness as she passed each room.
"I don't have any parents," she shrugged.
When Doctor Cullen continued to look confused, she elaborated.
"I never knew my father and my mother died of liver failure a little over a year ago," she shrugged.
"But…" Carlisle frowned, squinting his eyes in confusion. Why aren't you in the foster system? he wondered to himself.
Rosalie saw this and shrugged again.
"When Grandma Hale died just three months after, being my caretaker, I asked for and was granted emancipation," she told him. "I can take care of myself."
She flinched as she blurted out that statement and turned her face away defiantly when Carlisle pursed his lips. She walked to his Mercedes without a second look at him.
"Yes, I can see that," Doctor Cullen whispered the sarcastic comment to the collar of his shirt.
****
Rosalie was asleep, her dreams for once not dark and disturbing, but rather soothing when a stranger with long, caramel curls silently opened the door to her room and put a inconspicuous plastic bag on the end of her bed and then tip toed back through the door without waking her.
When she woke and looked in the bag, Rosalie Hale found the tiniest, sweetest little onesies and the tiniest little socks, barely the size of the pad of her thumb, the smallest little baby caps and beanies, some of them even had a recognizable Baby Born tag. Others were of other brands and most were specially designed, she could tell, by the fit and fabric quality.
But - she realized as she felt around the bag and inspected the clothing that smelled fresh and clean – none of the articles in the bag were new.
Rosalie Hale was not the first woman in Forks to give birth to a premature baby.
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